The Guest List(91)

It’s amazing how little noise a hundred and fifty people can make. People sit around at the tables, talking in whispers. Some of them are wearing foil blankets, for the cold and shock, and these are louder than the sound of voices, rustling as people move.

I haven’t said anything at all, not to anyone, not since he and I stood by the clifftop. I feel like all the words have been stolen from me.

All I’ve thought about for months is him. And now he’s dead, they say. I’m not pleased. At least, I don’t think I am. Mainly I’m still just shocked.

It wasn’t me. But it could have been. I remember how I felt the last time I saw him, cutting the cake with Jules. Seeing that knife … The thought was in my head. It was only for a couple of seconds. But I did think it, feel it, strong enough that a part of me wonders whether maybe I did do it, and somehow blanked it out. I can’t catch anyone’s eye, in case they see it in my face.

I jump in shock as I feel someone’s hand on my bare shoulder. I look up. It’s Jules, a foil blanket over her wedding dress. On her it looks like it’s a part of the outfit, like a warrior queen’s cape. Her mouth is set in such a thin line that her lips have disappeared and her eyes glitter. Her hand is on my shoulder, her fingers are gripping tight.

‘I know,’ she whispers. ‘About him – you.’

Oh God. So after all that soul-searching about whether to tell her, she somehow worked it out on her own, anyway. And she hates me. She must do. I can see it. I know there’s nothing I can do to change Jules’s mind once she’s made it up, nothing I can say.

Then there’s a shift and I think I glimpse something new in her expression.

‘If I’d known …’ I see her mouth the words more than hear them. ‘If I’d—’ she stops, swallows. She closes her eyes for a long moment and when she opens them again I see that they have filled with tears. And then she’s reaching for me and I’m standing up and she’s hugging me. And then I tense as I feel her body begin to shake. She’s crying, I realise, great loud, angry sobs. I can’t remember the last time Jules cried. I can’t remember the last time we hugged like this. Maybe never. There’s always been that distance between us. But for a moment it’s gone. And in the middle of everything else, all the shock and trauma of this whole night, it’s just the two of us. My sister and me.





The next day


HANNAH


The Plus-One


Charlie and I are on the boat back to the mainland. Most of the guests left earlier than us, the family are staying behind. I look back towards the island. The weather has cleared now and there’s sunlight on the water but the island is cast in the shadow of an overhanging cloud. It seems to crouch there like a great black beast, awaiting its next meal. I turn away from it.

I’ve barely been bothered by the movement of the boat this time. A little nausea is nothing compared to the deep sickness of the soul I felt when I made my discovery last night, that it was Will who as good as killed my sister.

I think of how I clung to Charlie on the ferry crossing to the island less than forty-eight hours ago, how we laughed together, despite my feeling so awful. The memory of it stings.

Charlie and I have hardly talked to one another. We have barely glanced at one another. Both of us, I think, have been lost in our own thoughts, remembering the last time we spoke before everything happened. And I don’t think I’d have the energy to speak right now, even if I wanted to. I feel physically and emotionally shattered … too weary to even begin to organise my thoughts, to work out how I feel. No one slept at all last night, obviously, but it’s more than that.

We’ll have to face everything once we’re home, of course. We’ll have to see, when we return to reality, whether we can mend what has been ruptured by this weekend. So much has been broken.

And yet one thing has emerged, complete, from that wreckage. A missing part of the puzzle has been found. I wouldn’t call it closure, because that wound will never fully heal. I am angry that I never got my chance to confront him. But I got my answer to the question I have been asking ever since Alice died. And in killing him, you could say that Will’s murderer avenged my sister too. I am only rather sorry I didn’t get the chance to plunge the knife in myself.





Keep Reading …


Another murder.


Another mystery.


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The beautiful one The golden couple The volatile one The new parents The quiet one

The city boy

The outsider

The victim

Not an accident – a murder among friends.




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Acknowledgements


To my editor, Kim Young, and to Charlotte Brabbin: this book has been such a collaborative effort that I definitely feel your names should be on the front of it too. Thank you for always pushing me to deliver the best book I can and for your unfailing faith in me and my writing from the beginning, across several books and across genres. It is such a rare and special thing.

To my agent extraordinaire, Cath Summerhayes: what a journey we’ve been on together so far! Thank you for being the hardest-working person I know (along with the names above!) and for championing me and my books at every opportunity. Thank you, too, for being such fun.